Transplant
Last night, you left your wife and daughter sleeping, slipped into the shed out back and shot yourself. You were 33. As morning breaks over the Blue Ridge, they call to say we have a match. My wife is gone and my daughter grown; I miss the days I watched them giggling in the yard, cupping their hands around flickering fireflies at dusk. When you take another man’s heart you take his history too: his longing, love and loss. In the days and years ahead, I will think of you when I pause to feel this rhythm in my chest.
About the Author
Jamy Bond’s stories and essays have appeared in a variety of print and online publications, including Best Microfiction 2023, Wigleaf, Pithead Chapel, The Forge, The Sun Magazine and The Rumpus. She earned an MFA from George Mason University where she co-founded So To Speak Journal. Recently, she served as co-founding EIC at SugarSugarSalt Magazine. She lives in Washington, DC. Find her at www.jamybond.com and on Twitter: @bond_jamy.
